


cigarettes in his eyes

by poetic_leopard



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Canon Elements, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, all for the Gay, minor triggers i guess, that sweet andreil goodness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_leopard/pseuds/poetic_leopard
Summary: This is just a collection of andreil one-shots, updated regularly as I write a new one or receive new requests or prompts.





	1. i. conquerable things

_prompt response: andreil stuck in a small space scenario_

* * *

As much as all these late night practices aided Neil in strengthening his form, some nights he felt so incredibly drained of energy that by the end of them he almost cursed his own resolve. 

* * *

Neil let out an exasperated breath as he tucked his helmet under his aching arm and trudged; zombie-like into the empty locker room. Kevin followed, taking long, agitated strides and muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he disappeared into the showers without sparing Neil a second’s glance. Neil didn't have the energy left to satiate Kevin’s relentless appetite for grief. Not in the moment, anyway. 

Neil’s body felt like cotton candy, soft; pliable, limbs worn pink and sore. Neil was halfway to his locker when he heard Andrew moving behind him. Neil peeled his gear off carefully and stuffed the majority of it into his giant locker before slamming it shut and turning on his heel to look at Andrew, who was slumped against the lockers on the other side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, pale hair wild and eyes bleary from a crucial lack of sleep.

“Go and shower. You fucking reek.” Andrew prompted. It had been a long day for them all, Neil could sense Andrew mirroring his own exhaustion. 

“Yeah. I’ll make it quick,” Neil promised, before breaking into the slightest smirk. “I mean, unless you want to help me out.” 

“Help yourself,” Andrew replied, dully. 

Neil knew better than to take offense to that as he merely shrugged and made a beeline for the showers. 

“Offer’s on the table if you change your mind. I’ll keep the stall unlocked.”

Neil showered as hurriedly as he could, knowing that Andrew would be waiting. The hot steam from the shower abated the stinging pain that reverberated through his sore bones and he felt himself tilting his head back towards where the force of the water was most concentrated. Newfangled bruises bloomed along the back of his elbows, the bottom of his left knee, across his inner wrist. He didn’t pay them much heed. Every injury he garnered on the court was a testament to how far he had come, how far he would go. They hurt less when he thought about them that way. 

They reminded him he was alive.

Neil dried his hair off with a towel before pulling his clothes back on, rather clumsy-handedly. By the sounds of it, Kevin was still in the shower. Neil headed straight for the lockers. He frowned when Andrew wasn’t within his direct line of sight. He could hear shuffling coming from the storage room towards his left. 

He wandered in to find Andrew attempting to keep a stack of old exy racquets from toppling over each other in what could have turned into one completely unfortunate domino effect.

“Scavenging for scraps?” 

“Your helmet,” Andrew muttered. “You ruptured your chin guard. I was checking if they had any replacement parts collecting dust here.”

“Any luck?”

“No.”

“I’m just going to put it on Kevin’s tablet,” Neil replied. “He aimed that last shot at my jaw on purpose.”

_“MAYBE YOU SHOULD LEARN TO DODGE LIKE ANY COMPETENT STRIKER WOULD!”_  snapped an irked, disembodied voice from the distance.

Sometimes Neil forgot how thin the walls here really were… Maybe Kevin just had the ears of a vampire bat, to have been able to hear them over the gushing of the water.

_“MAYBE YOU SHOULD MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!”_  Neil roared back, scathingly, before rolling his eyes and slamming the door closed behind him. Andrew stared at him, dead-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“What? I want to relish in dissing Kevin in relative privacy.” 

“You’ll lock us in, idiot.”

“I didn’t—“ 

“These hinges haven’t been oiled in years. They’re  _flimsy_.” There was a sudden, unspoken urgency in Andrew’s voice at that final word that made Neil’s insides twist. “Okay,” Neil said, hand curling around the door knob. 

He turned at it and— _shit_. Was Andrew about to be proven right? He gave it a hard yank and then another, and then a couple more for good measure. At this point, Andrew took a step forward, nudging Neil hard enough from waist to shoulder that he stumbled and felt his spine meet the cold expanse of wall. 

Andrew then maneuvered to inspect the door himself. 

Neil’s insides caved in on themselves. The storage room was tiny. Smaller even, than an average walk-in closet. Not to mention it was brimming with a maw-full of junk. It was also crowded and dark and smelled like an abundance of dust.

There was a dull bulb that flickered like an eighties horror film in the top right corner of the closet and Neil was half convinced he could hear something  _skittering_  behind the shelves. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of ambiances, but he knew better than anyone that there were worse places to get trapped in.

Andrew had now taken to straight up kicking at the door and pounding his fists against it hard enough that Neil could feel the vibrations in his teeth. 

“It’s no big deal,” Neil said, gently. “Kevin will get us out.” 

“Kevin—“ Andrew snapped, his pupils blown wide as he turned to meet Neil’s gaze. “Probably thinks we’re hooking up.”     

Neil wanted to say that Kevin wouldn’t abandon them, but then again, he wouldn’t put that kind of an assumption past Kevin, especially when he was feeling frustrated. 

Andrew’s head snapped back up. “Do you have your phone on you?” 

“It's in my bag,” Neil pinched the top of his nose. “Outside.” 

“Shit.” 

Neil watched Andrew for a quiet moment. His heart beginning to pound in alarm. He took in the wild, emancipated flicker in Andrew’s eyes, the calamity in his tone of voice. His gaze was capering everywhere like cat’s eyes to lasers. He looked as if he was imagining every wall in the room closing in on them all at once. “Andrew,” Neil’s voice was the barest suggestion of a whisper.

Andrew’s eyes flickered up to meet his, he was attempting to keep his lips tightly pressed together but there was a prominent strain to the curve of his mouth. His expression feral and bottomless; a consequence of the fear that was threatening to take over. 

“What.” 

“Are you claustrophobic?”

Andrew said nothing, but the torrent in his gaze was confirmation enough.

* * *

 

They had to give up after fifteen solid minutes of incessant banging against the unrepentant door and every cry for Kevin falling on deaf ears. 

Andrew was beginning to look very pale and his breathing had grown ragged. 

There was a tremor of misery rising up Neil’s throat as Andrew slumped against the door with his knees pressed into his heaving chest.

Neil was not used to Andrew making himself so small, it set something alight within him. Andrew compensated for the inconvenience of his height by having an overwhelming presence—the sort you’d do better facing head on rather than just flat out ignoring. If it was even humanly possible to ignore.

This… This was terrible and new.

Neil could taste iron at the back of his mouth, thinking back on one of his worst memories of Andrew. 

Even back then, lying defeated on bloodstained sheets, Andrew hadn’t tried to make himself scarce. His nonchalance, his disdain, his fear for what might’ve happened to Aaron… It had been an ugly cocktail of emotions (or a brittle lack there of) but it’d been larger than life. Neil could still feel the sheer animosity rolling off of Andrew, stiff and defensive and horrible. 

His laughter had been a warning.  

It had been so loud it had taken up the entire room.

Neil looked to Andrew again.

He remembered Andrew facing his fear of heights on their rooftop: Andrew’s knuckles, whitened from a hindered blood flow, the slumped ridges of his shoulders, the way he stared down at the ground, as if the ground would erupt from beneath him, extend its jaws and swallow him whole. 

“You know,” Neil began, crouching down next to Andrew. Neil felt the need to keep talking. “When my mother and I were on the run, I spent a lot of time in compact spaces. In closets, airport bathroom stalls, beneath motel beds. Mom would ask me to stay extremely still and close my eyes as tightly as I could. She wasn’t very good at consoling me, I don’t think she even knew how to begin with; but she would ask me to turn the world off, like it was that easy to just wield my brain like a switchboard. To hone in on a single, conquerable thing.” Something nauseous crawled its way up his windpipe, something he’d once mistaken for fondness. “See, she said when it comes to entrapment, helpless animals thrive in the little victories.” 

“You are a study in helplessness,” Andrew sucked in another strangled breath.

Neil continued. “She demanded I find something to clutch onto. It could be anything. The rancid smell of a cigarette, the sound of her voice, or something physical that I could touch,” Neil’s eyes met Andrew’s with intent, awaiting certain affirmation. Andrew picked up his gaze instantly. 

_But only if you let me..._

Andrew managed a small nod.

At this, Neil let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding to begin with and wrapped his hands over Andrew’s, which were busy digging into the soft material of his track pants over his knees. Andrew’s fingers were cold, limp. Neil brought their entwined hands towards his mouth and blew at them, gently. His breath warmer than the temperature of the confined room. “It’s not about finding your happy place or some unhelpful bullshit like that. I think it has more to do with cognitive response, we breathe subconsciously, right? So if you just find something else to focus on, your body naturally complies.”

“Shut up.” 

Andrew’s breaths sounded sharper now, shorter. His fingers dug into the skin of Neil’s palm before clutching for the back of Neil’s head. He dug his fists into his hair and pulled, every gasp hissed in between clenched teeth. It hurt, but watching Andrew crumble in this way hurt more. 

“It’s okay,” Neil insisted, pressing slow, breathy kisses to every single one of Andrew’s knuckles. “Just focus on me. Look at me. Everything else is just everything else. Andrew,” Neil said. “Look at me.  _Nothing else._ ”

“I thought  _you_  were nothing.”

“That’s right. I’m nothing. It’s easier to concentrate on my nothing, right?”

“God. Stop talking—“

“Tell me what’s happening. How difficult is it to breathe? Can you feel your heart rate escalating? Do you feel clammy?”

_“I’m going to kill Kevin Fucking Day.”_

“I’ll help you dispose of the body,” Neil replied, approvingly, before resting his forehead against Andrew’s and closing his eyes for a brief moment. He could feel Andrew shaking against him. 

“My fourth home,” Andrew said then, in between harsh, heavy breaths. “It was a game.”

“What—?”

“Get locked in a dark broom closet and search for the key.”

The words were distorted by a familiarly casual lack of concern. The sort that drove Neil to his wit’s end.

Neil felt a sudden pang of unbidden rage whorl up inside his chest. Now he was imagining a young Andrew. Probably no older than ten, locked within the dark confines of some asshole’s dusty old broom closet, utterly afraid and completely alone. Another onset of pain, the kind of pain that was more than just physical and Neil could feel clogging up his  _brain_. It was beginning to get volcanic. Neil felt his nostrils flare as his grip on Andrew’s hands tightened, just slightly. Their fingers were now slick with sweat but Neil couldn’t care less. 

“They should pay,” Neil’s voice was hoarse, throaty. It was as if a knife was growing within his stomach, large and serrated. “For what they did to you. They should all pay. I want to tear—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew’s voice was still ringed with panic, but strangely enough, his gaze had become more solid; rapt on Neil’s own. 

As if reminding Neil of the reach of his own apathy mattered more than the fear rapidly possessing him, voice a faultless escaped breath.

“I don’t care.” 

“You never do,” Neil replied, tone still frantic despite half-assed attempts to throttle the fury. “I’ll just have to amp up my own contempt tenfold—for the both of us.”

“Fucking junkie.”

“What can I say? I’m hooked,” Neil said, the corner of his lip tugging up to form a grin that left him rather surprised by himself.  _So hopelessly hooked._ Andrew didn’t look too amused, Neil could feel his pulse racing at his wrists, beneath the press of Neil’s fingers. “Hey, hey. Stay with me now. We’ll get out of here. It’ll be okay. Breathe, okay? Try to breathe.” 

Andrew did so, all the while staring Neil down begrudgingly. 

“I hate you.”

“You really outdid yourself with that. I mean  _groundbreaking_  revelation.”

“You’ll break my percentage meter.”

“Before you take another shot at breaking me? Sounds unfair.”

There was a look in Andrew’s eyes at that, one Neil couldn’t exactly place. It was something conflicted; at war with itself. It sank into Neil’s skin.

Andrew’s grip on Neil’s hair finally loosened as he untangled one of his hands from Neil’s in favor of fastening it around the nape of Neil’s neck and reeling him towards him. “Yes or no?” 

“It will never be no,” Neil waited for Andrew’s lips to engulf his own. He watched Andrew inhale (his breath still wary but less labored than before), watched his eyelashes flutter shut and then the unparalleled heat of Andrew’s mouth. 

The kiss was a hard, steadying press like a paperweight. An affirmation of trust. Andrew was letting Neil knead the tension out of him. Neil kept his movements gentle even as Andrew’s tongue hungrily scaled his throat. Andrew’s other hand left Neil’s to venture underneath his shirt and Andrew pressed a hand flat against Neil’s stomach, where the scarring was at its coarsest. Neil sucked in a shivering breath at the destabilizing touch. When they pried their lips apart, Neil brought Andrew close until their chests were pressed flush against one another. He could feel Andrew’s heart beating against his own, every cataclysmic breath. Andrew’s pupils were wide and there was almost a certain brimming exhilaration within them. Neil netted his fingers in the soft expanse of Andrew’s hair and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Block out all those rotten memories.  _Burn_  them. We’ll make new ones.” 

“Oh?” Andrew said, dryly. “Is that your attempt at an assurance?”

“That’s a promise.”

“Careful,” Andrew drawled. “That’s still foreign dialect for a pathetic little runaway.”

“It’s  _your_ language,” Neil replied. “So I’ll learn it.”

At this, Andrew blanched.

Only this time, Neil had a feeling it had nothing to do with panic.

* * *

Neil awoke to a jolting pain riding up his left ankle, Andrew’s face pressed into his neck and Coach Wymack looming over him with an incredibly dangerous look on his face. 

“I swear I will kick the shit out of you until you whimper,” Wymack imposed.

“Coach!” Neil cried.

“I know I said I don’t care what you maggots do off court but bedrooms exist for a reason,” Wymack grumbled. “Next time,  _use_  them. Now, would you care to explain to me what the fuck you two were doing cooped up in here? Keep it PG, yeah?” 

“It isn’t what it looks like,” Neil snapped, cheeks flaring. “I shut the door too hard and locked us in.”

Wymack’s expression changed, albeit marginally as his gaze dropped to Andrew. “Is he—?” 

“He’ll be fine.” Neil reassured, with a small sigh. When Wymack shot him a doubtful glare, Neil immediately remedied his phrase. “Not my flimsy definition of fine— _Genuinely_  fine.”

For a moment, Wymack said nothing, before clearing his throat and looking Neil square in the eye, expression hardening once more. “Wake him up, get yourselves freshened up and get the fuck out of my sight.” He said, pointing at Andrew, who was still curled up against Neil like a cat.

“Yes, Coach.” 

He turned on his heel to leave, before halting abruptly. “And Neil?”

“Yes?”

“Thank fuck you were with him.”

Neil felt a prickle of something sad stab at his throat, but he nodded. 

“Get plenty of water and some grub in your systems. Don’t think I’m letting you off easy. It’s gonna be a grueling day ahead.” 

“Yes, Coach.”

“Don’t ‘yes, coach’ me.”

“Yes, Coach. Er— Alright?” 

Wymack groaned audibly, stared up at the ceiling like  _what-will-I-ever-do-with-this-good-for-nothing-little-shit_ before skulking off. Next to him, Andrew stirred.

“You’re awake,” Neil said, softly.

“Keen observation,” he responded, voice still groggy like early morning honey.

“Wanna get the fuck out of here?” Neil asked.

“Wanna get the fuck off of you,” Andrew said, pushing himself up and off of Neil. He was a little wobbly as he rose to his feet and had to extend an arm up against the wall to keep himself upright. 

He stared at the door blown wide open and the barcodes of light pooling in from outside. Stray voices floated up from the foyer. Neil pulled himself to his feet and stretched to work out a kink in his neck. 

Andrew was out the door before he could finish. 

Neil followed him out, equally eager to be free of the dry smell of mold exposure and cardboard boxes.

Andrew turned to him, expression unreadable. Neil halted just in time to keep himself from walking straight into his back. 

“I will say this once and once only so listen closely if you care to hear it.”  

“Hm?”

“You know I don’t care for useless sentiments,” Andrew said. “What you did, I won’t forget it.”

Neil felt something warm and unnamable bloom behind his ribs. Neil didn’t think Andrew understood, or maybe he understood perfectly and just didn’t want to admit it. Knowing Andrew, it was probably the latter. Either way, Neil didn’t require an acknowledgement or a worthless show of gratitude. He hadn’t done it out of courtesy, he’d done it because he couldn’t bear the thought of what might’ve happened otherwise. Couldn’t bear the thought of watching Andrew fall victim to the weight of his past. Time upon time again.

“It was nothing.” Neil replied quietly, but he hoped Andrew heard the underlying notion within his words. 

_It was everything._

Andrew’s face was a blank canvas while Neil’s was a mosaic of abstracts.

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“I know.”


	2. ii. swim against the tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: imagine person A knowing person B hasn't been eating properly for the last few days so person A makes them a proper meal from scratch that they can both eat together to make person B feel better.

_"sit back and open wide,_  
_let me see you're dead inside,_  
_it's so hard to swim against the tide"_

* * *

Neil wipes a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist and bares his teeth. He’s got that acute glimmer of feral aggression behind his eyes again, Andrew observes, dully.  

* * *

The sort of expression often native to a prowling jungle cat attempting to intimidate a potential threat into premature submission. Andrew can’t help but see it as a phenomenal waste of energy, getting worked up over a stupid practice scrimmage, at Kevin Day of all short-fused idiots. 

No matter how close Andrew allows Neil to get, he will never be used to his exhaustive thirst for victory.

 _How many more goddamn exy-obsessed morons do I have to babysit in this lifetime?_  
  
Across the court, Kevin’s got a firm grip on his racquet as he glowers behind the netting at Neil as if through the barrel of a gun. It’s a late fall evening and the sky is a patchwork of pink-gold clouds, the moon sits a shrivel of a crescent in the rapidly darkening distance. 

Andrew watches his teammates with his characteristic lack-of-character, expression neutral as he remains stationed in position, racquet balanced on his shoulders like an afterthought. 

He can hear Nicky whinging to Matt about something inconsequential Andrew doesn’t care enough to inquire about, Renee and Allison have been exchanging subtle glances across the court for two-and-a-half hours now. 

During their last sparring session, Renee mentioned in passing that she’d found another sparring partner in Allison. “She wants me to teach her how to fight. Says she wants to be prepared for anything. It’s like she doesn’t trust the world as much after everything that happened with Seth and Neil’s consequent revelation. It’s sad but I think it’s awfully brave of her, don’t you?” Andrew had merely blinked at her, unamused, before grappling her into a headlock she hadn’t seen coming and raising a knife to her throat. “Oops,” he said. “You’re dead.”

It isn’t until Andrew hears Kevin strike that he notices the hesitation in Neil’s jaw just as he slams the ball with lethal force and his knees buckle. He stumbles not even half a second after and Dan grabs ahold of him before he can crumple to the ground. Andrew feels his heart skip a couple of paces just as Wymack blows his warning whistle, calling a timeout. Kevin gawks in mystification for a moment before breaking into a disapproving scowl.

“The hell was that, Josten?” Wymack snaps, striding over to Neil and crossing his arms over his big chest. “I’m fine,” Neil grunts. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right,” Wymack replies, with a smile that’s at least two-fifths deliberate condescension. “It won’t, because right now you’re about as useful to me as a vegetable. I’m benching you for the rest of today.”

“Come on, Coach!” Nicky shouts, jogging up to where everyone is now crowding around Neil like he’s some kind of a helpless dog they all accidentally ran over with their cars. “Let’s just call an early mark. Please? We could all use a break!”

“ _I_  don’t,” Neil spits, balling his fists to his sides; eyes rapt on Wymack’s.  _Idiot_. Wymack shoots a steely glare right back at him. “You play in peak condition or you don’t play at all. I won’t tolerate this half-assed bullshit. You hear me?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. Now go pick a cozy corner to sulk in and don’t return to my court until you’re  _bleeding_  stamina or I will knock you flat on your ass myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“But—“

“I said,” Wymack’s tone becomes dangerously taut.  _“Do I make myself clear?”_

At this point, even Nicky shuts his trap and takes an obedient step back, his expression pleading at Neil to do everything within his power to  _not_  trip on the Coach’s last nerve.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Neil growls, lowly. Nicky shakes his head in exasperation, just as Dan smoothly interjects, “I think what Coach is trying to say, Neil, as that you seem a little under the weather today. Maybe rest up a little and take it easy for the evening so that you’re better equipped for practice tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, man,” Matt chimes in. “We’re just worried about your health.”

Andrew brings his racquet down and leans his body weight against it, still watching quietly from the sidelines. Renee shoots him a concerned glance and Andrew pretends not to notice.

“It’s insulting,” Kevin cuts in, with eyes only for Neil as he crosses the distance between them and parks himself merely inches from where Neil is standing. Andrew can’t say he envies Neil. He knows firsthand Kevin’s tendency to invite himself into one’s personal space whenever he gets cranky. “You’re insulting us all. I don’t know what the fuck’s been going on with you, but you better get your shit together because your breakdowns have no place on the court. Now do as Coach says before you waste any more of everyone’s time.”

Kevin and Neil spend a solid minute exchanging mind-imploding death glares at one another before Neil caves. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he flips Kevin off, turns on his heel and trudges off the court. Andrew watches Neil carefully. The fight is slowly pilfered from his shoulders and he lets his chin droop against his neck. There is something volatile about his defeated posture as he ambles right past the stands and towards the showers. Wymack turns to Andrew, expression irked but knowing. 

“Goodbye.” Andrew says, before casually trailing after Neil.

“There isn’t enough whiskey in the goddamn world to put up with you ungrateful asshats on a daily basis,” Wymack mutters, under his breath before blowing his whistle again. “That’s enough dilly-dallying, maggots! We can practice without Tom and Jerry for now. Drop the long faces and give me forty-five laps. We’ll reassemble then. Go, go. Fucking go.”

* * *

 

"Crowdpleaser,” Andrew mumbles, coming up behind Neil.

Neil looks up at him without meeting his eyes. “Agree to disagree.”

Andrew joins Neil in the shower and they kiss until their mouths are numb and then Andrew drives them back home. They’re barely halfway through the door when King Fluffkins trots up to them and curls himself, not unlike a clingy toddler, around Andrew’s boot. “Get your cat off my foot,” Andrew mutters, at once. Neil shrugs off his coat, shuts the door behind them and smiles faintly. “And deprive him of cuddles? That’s abuse. Plus, he likes you.” Andrew groans and has to peel the feline off himself as he cradles King Fluffkins in his arms and deposits him on the couch next to a lazing Sir Fat Cat McCatterson. “Do that again and I won’t hesitate to turn your furry ass into a winter coat.”

King Fluffkins looks unfazed at this remark, but a short laugh escapes Neil. 

Andrew will never admit it, but Neil’s laugh sends a jolt of spring warmth up his spine. The kind that wedges itself in between shoulder blades and seeps into his ribcage. It is so full of raw, fleeting feeling that it fills every gap inside Andrew to a brimming point. 

Andrew sourly notes Neil hasn’t laughed like that in a week. 

“What did we discuss about threatening our cats at every given moment?”

“Your cats.”

“Right. Whenever they piss you off they’re  _my_  cats.”

Neil follows the cats’ bad example, dropping dead on his back on the lounge room sofa and allowing the pests to crawl up onto his chest. Andrew empties the litter, brings them fresh water and fills their bowls to the top with food before wandering into the kitchen. 

The weather grows worse within the span of the hour. The rain is loud as fuck outside. The wind droning on like the hum of a distraught choir. He chops a fresh batch of mushrooms, carrots and green bell peppers. He separates all the vegetables and leaves a stockpot of water to simmer. The oven is preheating. He cooks in mindless silence, all the while wondering why Neil isn’t venturing in to watch him like he usually does. There is something upsetting fizzling beneath his skin, like an itch he can’t scratch. He has this shitty gut  _feeling_ —hot and incendiary; an interloper awaiting recognition. He spends longer than intended in passive contemplation and his stockpot begins to overspill. 

Andrew lowers the temperature of the gas and yanks the lid off the pot, swatting the steam away as if it were a school of flies. 

He finds cooking less boring than he finds most activities in his daily life. Bee says it’s because cooking is an act of creation, which makes it a common stress reliever. People feel better about themselves when they’re creating. 

Andrew doesn’t know about that, but it’s a layman’s job to follow a recipe. 

There is something vaguely satisfying about it, he thinks. Cooking is meticulous and straight to the point. It doesn’t take thinking if your hands know what to do and your mind’s prone to estimate. If the recipe demands half a slab of melted butter he won’t add a pinch more or less. He’s fairly adept at following instructions and doesn’t feel the need to experiment. If nothing else, cooking is a way to pass the time and is vital to survival.

Eventually, Neil does float into the kitchen, looking jaded. Andrew keeps himself busy with seasoning and pays him no heat. “I’m going to bed,” he says quietly. Andrew halts, grabs a wooden spoon and dips it into the pot nearest to him, still hot off the stove. “Come here,” he replies. Neil joins his side as Andrew blows softly on the liquid before holding a spoonful up to Neil’s mouth.

“Taste.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“ _Taste_.”

Neil pouts a little, but obediently leans in and takes the smallest sip. “Mm,” he nods. “What is it?”

“Hot and sour soup.” Andrew says.

“Will it taste better off of your lips?” He leans in questioningly but Andrew neatly sidesteps, leaving Neil fumbling. “Sorry,” Neil remedies, quickly. 

“I didn’t mean to—“

“You’ll consume it directly first.” Andrew answers, in lieu of an explanation. 

“It’s really good. I’ll uh… Have some tomorrow if there’s leftovers.” 

Neil is about to turn when Andrew wraps cold, gentle fingers around his wrist. “Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Go outside and take a seat on the dining table.”

Something dire flashes in Neil’s heady blue eyes. “Andrew—“

“Don’t argue with me.”

* * *

 

It’s a full-fledged three-course assortment of homemade meals and Neil stares at it like it’s making him nauseous just to look at it. To Andrew, it smells heavenly: steaming hot-sour soup and chicken à la king with a side of sweet potato wedges. Andrew feels a pang of something irritable inside his chest. He doesn’t quite care whether Neil likes it or not. He isn’t allowed to be a baby about this. Not any fucking more.

“Eat,” he prompts. “Eat or I will force feed it down your gullet, yes?”

Neil sighs and begins to scoop an insufficient portion onto his plate, rather halfheartedly. Andrew snatches the spoon from him and begins to serve Neil himself, making sure to get an equally ample portion of each item available before helping himself. 

“You will explain as we eat.”

“What?”

“Drop the clueless act and stop being this pathetic.”

When Neil merely blinks at him Andrew scoots closer to Neil in his chair, making it creak in protest against the wooden floor as he grabs Neil’s chin in his hand. He lowers Neil’s head and allows his eyes to bore into Neil’s. He’s lost every remaining morsel of his patience. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“No.”

“You’re treating me like one.”

“I’m not trying to. Fuck. Everyone’s just constantly on my ass about everything all the time and so what if I have a bad day or two. Am I not allowed the privilege—?”  

“ _Fuck_  everyone,” Andrew’s voice is dull and combustible. “Do I look like everyone?”

At this, Neil lowers his gaze to Andrew’s lips, back to his eyes and something within Neil’s own softens. 

“Of course not,” he replies, voice more subdued now.

“I’ve had enough of your mopey bullshit,” Andrew says, letting go of Neil’s chin. 

“Explain.” Andrew demands. 

“It’s not a big deal.”

Everything inside Andrew knots up like curdled milk. There is a visible tension in Neil’s shoulders that is no doubt going to escape in a torrent; without a moment’s notice. Andrew doesn’t even have to prepare himself for it. He just wants to face it headfirst.

Andrew draws his mouth into a thin line. “If you lie to me again I won’t sit here and tolerate it.” 

“It’s not something you’ll want to hear.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew snaps. “Tick tock.”

Neil takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose and the words tumble out of his mouth like bullet shells. “I know that it’s naive but I thought he wasn’t going to be a problem, at least not for the foreseeable future. I will keep playing Exy until there is none of me left. That’s the deal. That’s how it goes but there are  _things_  I can’t control—if something happens to me? Something that makes me incapable of playing and—and then, he’ll turn the Foxes into collateral damage in  _my_  war.” Neil glances up to meet Andrew’s unflinching gaze. “ _Ichirou_ ,” he says, the name sounding like a strained chord on a busted up guitar. “He flew down for a meeting and paid me a visit on a whim. He said things. He fucking—“ now there’s a keen rage seizing him. “He fucking threatened your life!”

“He’s threatened my life before.”

“Exactly! He’s made his point. I get it. We get it. This time, he was doing it to taunt me, to remind me that we’re all ultimately just pawns on his sick little chessboard. He’s  _screwing_  with me.”

Andrew leans calmly back into his chair and says nothing, waiting for Neil to calm down. At this point, Neil is seething, his breath choked out in rattled gasps. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on either end of the table. 

“That wasn’t something I could stand. Listening to that bastard pompously claim all the things he could do to you, count off the ways he could make you disappear without a trace. Why should I have to put up with this crap? Why do I have to keep living beneath the Moriyamas’ shadow? Sitting there, listening to him recite what he’s capable of— _hurting_  you. It reminded me that I’m still the Butcher’s son, that I should be raining hell down on anyone who even thinks of touching us—Touching you.” 

Neil is shivering now, his words coming out in escaped sobs. His entire body’s a wreck. He’s a wreck. 

Andrew’s stomach twists as conviction stronger than anything Andrew’s ever felt burns in Neil’s voice.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Andrew asks, promptly. 

“I—“

_“What did I tell you?”_

He watches the muscles work under Neil’s clenched jaw.

“To bury Nathaniel in Baltimore with his father.” 

“Neil is your only truth from now on, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t.”

“You cannot object what is irrefutable.”

“I won’t let them, Andrew. I can’t… Because  _that_  would be pathetic.”

“If there is a single part of you that is still Nathaniel, I do not want anything to do with it. Are we clear?”

Neil is at an utter loss of words before he attempts to gather himself, something unsteady flashing in his eyes. Andrew does not care if his truth is a harsh pill to swallow. Neil will learn. This is the man he chose to protect, the man he sleeps with, the man who is  _his_. 

 _Another irrefutable truth_ —Neil Josten; not some phantom burnout son-of-a-killer.

“Are you digging him back up?”  
  
“No. What’s dead is dead.”

“Good,” Andrew won’t admit the relief his words warrant. “I want you to remember you said that.”

“It’s just—“ Neil sighed. “I haven’t been able to eat or sleep since talking to him. I keep seeing your dead body at my feet or— or worse and I feel like throwing up. It’s that same, ringing sense of dread all over again. The dread I felt when Riko threatened you, before I made my decision to go to Evermore. All I can think about is the need to eliminate the threat. I want to  _kill_  him.”

“Don’t be irrational.” 

“I can’t just let him get away with this.”

“That is exactly what you’re going to do. Neil,” Andrew says. “Yes or—?”

 _Bright eyes sharp as stained glass._  “Yes.”

Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his own and presses it to the side of his neck, just beneath his jugular vein so that Neil can feel Andrew’s pulse beating underneath the skin there. “Not to indulge your creepy neck fetish or anything but,” he cups his own hand over where he’s holding Neil’s. “I’m  _here_.”

“Whenever— _if_  anything happens, I’ll still be here.” Andrew says. “Nod if you understand.”

Neil lets out another shaky breath and nods slowly, eyes steady on Andrew’s. Watching him unravel on his bad days is always somewhat of a stale realization. There is a part of Andrew that thinks it isn’t fair. When did things become this critical? Before… He wasn’t feeling unless he was feeling empty, the only time the world felt real was when he was standing at the edge of it, staring down at what could quite possibly be a bottomless death. He never used to know what to do with his hands, not until Neil had reminded him, anyway. 

“They’re  _your_  hands,” cigarette lounging lazily at the corner of lips chapped stupid, eyes so wide they could be confused for open sores, hair ruffled in the wind. 

He’d wanted nothing.

Now he is surviving on that very nothing, cultivating a life from every breath that leaves nothing’s lips.

_Careful what you fucking wish for._

Neil’s fingers are warm as they curl up to grip the back of Andrew’s neck. He still looks shaken, furious; as if he wants to turn the world on its head and  _fight_  it. There’s still an unkempt tenseness to his posture. Andrew hates it. 

“I don’t care,” Neil announces. “I don’t care if they kill me. Ever since I was born I’ve been ready to die if it comes down to it. That’s the philosophy I was raised on.”

Andrew reads the implication on his face even before he has to make it clear. 

“They can’t have you.”

_You think it’s cute throwing my own words back in my face?_

“Still playing at rabbit?” Andrew says, after a pause. “You know better than to waste energy fretting over shit that you can’t control, or have you not learned anything?”  
  
“My learning curve’s a horizontal line, remember?” Neil replies, a suggestive hint in the twist of his lips.

“Coincidentally the position you’ll be lying in your coffin when I’m done with you.”

“Death kink or neck fetish. Which one’s weirder? We should ask Nicky.”

“I hate you.”

“Me too.” 

“I  _mean_  it.”

 _Neil’s fingers against his skin. Alive, alive._  

“That’s what I love about you.”

Andrew scoffs and pushes Neil’s hand off before turning back around in his chair. “Your food will get cold,” he mutters, tone finite. 

“Okay.”

“The next time you skip a meal you can sustain on whatever the cats are having.” 

“Thank you.”

They eat in the sort of silence that swells over a small town after it’s been ransacked by a hurricane but still left standing. It’s a dizzying, electric sort of silence. The sort you can feel in your bones. When they’re done, Neil helps clear the plates away and they pad up to their bedroom. 

King Fluffkins follows as Sir Fat Cat McCatterson continues to doze in his delegated spot.

“That was the best dinner I’ve ever had. I’ll starve myself all the time if that means you’ll cook for me more often.” That dark look in Neil’s eyes has dissolved into something clearer as he rolls over onto his side and begins to press kneading kisses down the side of Andrew’s jaw. 

“Shut up.”

“It’s true,” Neil’s words are muffled against Andrew’s heated skin. “You know last week, Nicky was treating all of us to dinner and he asked me what my favorite dish was and I told him I didn’t actually know. Dan and Matt totally freaked out.” Neil’s hand stills over Andrew’s cheek for a brief moment. “My mother never used to cook. I know how to whip up your standard meals. Enough to keep me going. Omelettes, sandwiches, breakfast burritos. You name it. I’ve pretty much got microwaving down to an art form too, but I’ve never eaten anything like… This.” 

Neil leans over and presses a soft kiss to Andrew’s lips, the kind that spreads out like the petals of a flower.

“It tastes like real home food,” he smiles against Andrew’s face before gently meeting Andrew’s unwavering gaze. 

“You can touch me if you want.” Andrew’s voice is hoarse.

Neil looks slightly hesitant as he lets one of his hands gently slip beneath the hem of Andrew’s shirt.

Andrew closes his eyes at the contact. Neil’s touch is respectful, delicate, debilitating. Andrew’s skin is fever-warm against Neil’s cool fingertips. Andrew doesn’t want Neil to be able to detect the shortness of his breaths but he can bet Neil  _feels_  them.

“I’d like to extend my compliments to the chef,” Neil says, fingers faltering along the waistband of Andrew’s sweatpants.  _“Properly.”_

Andrew grunts a quiet affirmation and Neil slides down, pulling the covers over his head. 

He pushes the covers away in quick retaliation.

Eyes intent on Neil’s.

**“I want to see you.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls comments r cool  
> these boys r so gay for each other  
> n much intense  
> go d chill? jk  
> i love them sm  
> title borrowed from the song by the same name by the japanese house the song is  
> 10/10 would recommend 
> 
> thanks for reading :).


	3. iii. roses are red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the product of something i wrote after reading the post by @sillytfcaus on tumblr that was just like "au where andrew is a poetry major" and i was just like, bitch yea..!!

_Often we forget that we are the ones living our own lives, that this life belongs to us, and it shall go on the way we fight for it to. - Lukas W  
_

* * *

_This is all temporary._  

Neil had to keep reminding himself of that as he took in the wide expanse of Palmetto State: the tall, looming buildings, the wide, perfectly mowed lawns, the sound of student chatter rising up from the old halls. Neil’s gaze was immediately drawn to a bright poster sporting the proud school colors, with a tiny cartoon fox nursing an exy racquet printed besides it. The Palmetto State Foxes tryouts would be held next week. Neil’s chest burned with clashing notions of desire and envy and the next thing he knew, his feet led him directly to the court.

It was a soccer field today, but it would be an Exy court tomorrow. There were a few kids having a practice match in the grass, but otherwise, the place felt uncomfortably empty. Neil gawked up at the barren orange-and-white striped stands, the large plexiglass walls, the blackened screen of the scoreboards. It was so utterly perfect that it was somehow painful. Neil closed his eyes and imagined it. The stadium was alive. There were ghostly spectators in the rafters, their screams carried away by the winds as they cheered triumphantly. There was the scoreboard, lighting up in brilliant neons. There was the sound of shoes squelching against glossy wood and of bodies thrusting against the ground and a rumbling applause. When he opened his eyes again, he felt the sudden compulsive need to grab a racquet from wherever he could and barrel headfirst into the court. 

Instead, he took five relenting steps backwards and shuffled back to the main building. He urgently needed to buy a packet of cigarettes to ground himself before he lost himself to useless dreams of the sky. 

“And the cafeteria’s pretty nice, plenty of fresh air, you know? Although the food’s proper shit. Like, I had a more balanced dinner on the airplane I took to get here? I personally recommend the Japanese takeout place down the block. Oh, and what are you majoring in? I thought I was already all ‘been here, done that’ with the whole uni thing but I took up a linguistics course and I haven’t been disappointed. _Meine Geliebte!_ My boyfriend back home’s German.” 

Neil wasn’t exactly sure how he’d ended up with this clinging loudmouth glued to his side all of a sudden. He’d already forgotten his name because he hadn’t really been paying attention when he’d introduced himself in the first place, but he hadn't stopped talking Neil’s ear off since they’d accidentally met in the men’s bathroom where Neil had almost leapt out of his skin. Luckily, he’d just finished putting his contacts in and didn’t believe the man suspected a thing.

What ever happened to taking unfriendliness at face value?

Apparently Neil’s unresponsiveness had been mistaken for an invitation to tag along as Neil tiredly made his way back up to his dorms. 

“Hey! You gonna be at the mixer later?”

He was absolutely _not_ going to be at the mixer.  

He was going to be as far away from the mixer as he could while still being chained to campus. 

Neil was definitely not looking forward to the social burdens that came with transferring into a new school. 

“I’m going but I’ve gotta duck out early to help Aaron with practice. We’ve gotta brush up on our skills before the season starts. I guess to be fair I can see why he’s kinda insistent. I’m rusty on Exy. It’s been awhile since I played. Especially competitively.”

Neil stopped dead in his tracks. “You play Exy?”

“Oh, yeah. Did I not mention that earlier?” Nicky threw his head back and laughed. “You’re looking at Nicky Hemmick, backliner extraordinaire.” Nicky held out a hand and Neil shook it, albeit reluctantly. He then sighed. “Not that I’m really the best at it. You heard Kevin Day’s going to be on the new team, right? What a nightmare. I’ve heard he’s a tight ass—With a great ass, might I add. So… Maybe that makes up for it? It’s crazy because it was all kept under wraps until a little while ago, and we’re still being forced to be real low key about it. Apparently it’s because of some shit that went down with his previous team? He used to play for Edgar Allen and then there was a skiing accident or something? I don’t know the nitty gritty, but now I’m actually kind of looking forward to it... Funny how it took the mention of Exy to finally get you to crack. You gonna try out?”

“I think I might.” 

“You should, man!” Nicky said, punching him in the shoulder lightly.

Neil just stared. 

It didn’t come as a surprise, but as a confirmation. 

He’d chosen PSU for a reason, and that reason was Kevin Day. 

* * *

It was a gloomy and humid day when Neil found out he would play for the Palmetto State Foxes. There was a part of him that knew he should be more upset. This was not allowed. He could hear his mother’s berating voice in his head, uproarious and unpleased. _Don’t waste your time on petty things,_ _survival is all that matters_. _Do you understand?_ Neil didn’t.

Did survival matter when nothing about that achieved survival really mattered?

He was ecstatic, Exy was a drug and an engine that fueled him. At least this way, all this futile self preservation meant something. 

He would meet his teammates the next day. That was the part that _did_ bother him. It had been hard enough as it was, shrugging Nicky off for an entire week, but it was even harder to be a part of a team while hoping he’d be exempt of their scrutiny or worse—their friendship. Neil didn’t care about the people. They were merely pawns to the vital execution of the game. 

Much to his chagrin, Neil had to swallow his distaste for social gatherings and join Nicky for a dorm party later that evening for the sake of stalking Kevin, who either didn’t recognize Neil or didn’t remember his existence, but Neil had to make sure.

He couldn’t possibly risk transparency.

The party was your average excuse for people to let go of their inhibitions and forget about their student debts. It was raucous and boring and left Neil feeling even lonelier than he was to begin with for some reason. The dorm they were in was small as it was and it seemed rather idiotic to force a circus worth of meandering drunkards into a single compact space in this way. Well, at least Nicky had abandoned him to go play beer pong. Neil sat in the corner and observed Kevin, who would only put down a drink to pick yet another one up. This was his fifteenth cup. It was impressive even if Neil was getting nauseated just looking at him. 

It was when Kevin met his gaze that Neil felt himself stiffen, his heart crawling into his mouth.  

Fuck.

The next thing he knew, Kevin was swallowing the contents of his cup down in one quick gulp and stumbling over to where Neil was sat, as many inches away as he could get from some girl who was lying passed out with her head tilted at a remorseful angle. 

“Is she with you?” Kevin asked, eyeing the girl.

“No.”

“Someone should check her pulse,” he muttered offhandedly, before gently pushing her aside so he could plop down next to Neil. Kevin’s eyes were a critical red from all the drinking and his skin looked flushed, despite this, the stare he placed on Neil was calculating and heavy. “You,” he then said. 

_This it it. He’s going to expose me._

“You’re talented.”

It was not at all what he’d been expecting. 

Neil swallowed and despite the quiet fear ringing within him, looked up to meet Kevin’s steady gaze. 

“I’m not anything, but thank you for saying that.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kevin drawled, before digging a finger into his temple in mock grief. “What is it with all the denial with you people? Are you really stupid or just being modest?” 

Neil wasn’t going to comment on the fact that Kevin’s phrasing suggested he was talking about someone else entirely. Neil could feel his throat beginning to burn as he lied straight through his teeth. 

“It’s just a sport.” 

_It’s everything it’s everything it’s everything—_

Kevin looked like he’d been slapped, and then he was curling his fist around Neil's collar and lunging at him. “Hey—“ Neil snapped, just as Kevin flashed his teeth. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Kevin sneered, his knuckles white as death against Neil’s collarbone. From across the room, he heard Nicky cry out Kevin’s name in alarm, the girl who had been lying half-dead next to them had scrambled to her feet and was attempting to record them with her phone and the music had diffused to static in Neil’s ears. The entire world felt reduced to the venom lacing Kevin’s accusatory glare.

And suddenly— “Let him go.” 

Kevin stilled at the voice like a robot on command.

“Kevin,” Neil attempted to find the source of the voice from his peripheral. All he could see were colorful blurs. It was like his vision was a camera and the lens was far too focused on Kevin to betray the rest of the image. _“Let him go.”_

Slowly, Kevin lowered his hand and released his grip on Neil, before peeling himself off of the couch entirely without offering Neil another glance. Neil’s head jerked up to follow him and landed on another familiar face. Andrew Minyard was five feet of blissful ignorance as he shot Kevin a drab look and muttered something out of ear shot. Neil was watching his lips in hopes to make out the words being said but wasn’t quite successful in reading them. 

For just a single moment, Andrew looked Neil square in the eye, as if he’d sensed he was being watched. It was only ever a millisecond’s glance, but there was a distinct coldness in it that made a shiver trail up Neil’s spine. He couldn’t shake that feeling of unease even as Andrew turned away and made off with a defeated Kevin on his heels. It was frankly amazing Andrew had managed to intervene without even needing to insert himself into the situation. 

Even though he was so short, Andrew had appeared larger than he did in the headlines. There was something about his pale hair and warning tone that had left a dent on Neil. Something quiet and hungry and new unearthed itself beneath Neil’s skin like a discovery.

“Are you okay?”

Nicky was now at his side, gripping his shoulders and offering him a sheepish smile.

“I’m so sorry!”

Neil only half-heard him.

He couldn’t help but think that if Kevin’s gaze was a phantom, Andrew’s was the murder.

* * *

_“Do we simply stare at what’s horrible and forgive it? Or do we avert our eyes and pray it leaves?”_

The second time he met Andrew Minyard, the guy seemed to be a different person entirely, wearing a poisonous flame of a smile and reading poetry out loud and dressed in all-black head-to-toe.   

“Oh yeah,” Nicky said, coming up besides him. “I guess you guys haven’t officially met. That’s my cousin, Andrew, and his twin brother’s probably around somewhere. His name’s Aaron. I’m sort of babysitting them for now, but don’t tell either of them I said that, I like having my jaw intact, you know.” 

Neil didn’t really have to be told this. He had spent the past two days reading up on everything that he could find on the internet about The Minyards—Andrew especially. He’d learned that not only was Andrew the Foxes’ goalkeeper, he was also their deadliest investment. 

Andrew was either a hopeless liability or an irreplaceable asset, depending on the day. He was also drugged to high-hell most of the time, which probably explained the intense shift in semblance. He must’ve been sober the night of the party. 

“Andrew’s not exactly the partying type, but Kevin Day doesn’t go anywhere alone. Not without his soldier flanking him anyway. To be fair, Andrew’s not really the college type either. Pretty sure he only picked the most boring major there is because he’s literally interested in jack squat.” Nicky said.

“What is he majoring in?” 

“Poetry.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s what I said, too.”

When Nicky had pissed off to finish putting on his gear for their first practice scrimmage and the others had already ventured out onto the field, Neil was left alone in the locker room with Andrew, who gestured with two curled fingers for him to come close. Neil frowned and pointed at his own chest while Andrew grinned and nodded.

“It’s Neil, right?” 

Neil nodded.

“Neil, Neil. You left quite the impression on Kevin, you know.” Andrew purred. 

_And he was seconds away from leaving an impression on me if it hadn't been for you._

“I can’t figure him out.” Neil lied.

“Is that so?” Andrew cocked his head to the side. “You know what I think?”

“I don’t particularly care.” Neil replied.

At this, Andrew laughed. It was a brutal and jarring laugh and when it was over, the silence that followed felt a whole lot like simmering dread. “I think you’ve got a lot more figured out than you let on.” 

Neil remained resilient despite the way his stomach twisted.

“All that thinking must be hard on your brain.”

This earned him a full blown smile, but the smile felt like a punch landed on his gut.

“That elegance, but I smell fire.” Andrew’s eyes were the color of expired whiskey. “Word from the wise? You’ll raise suspicion if you keep up the ensnarled rabbit act.”

Neil stared at him. There was that weird sensation again, the one he’d felt beneath his skin after being subjected to Andrew’s satellite gaze. He felt it again but deeper, louder; still holding whatever ground he had left to stand on. 

“Why does he listen to you?” Neil posited. 

Andrew’s smile grew even wider, like a knife slicing of cake. “He needs someone to listen to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t like the implication of the question.”

Before Neil could answer, Nicky rounded the corner. “C’mon guys! We’ve gotta get our asses on court before Wymack blows a freaking gasket.” 

Neil nodded and Andrew stood up. 

All of a sudden, Andrew looked like a child who’d found a new toy to play with.

Neil was only a couple inches taller, but within the moment, he felt microscopic.

“It’s really a pleasure to meet you, Neil.” 

* * *

Besides Andrew and his crowd, the rest of the Foxes were actually fairly tolerable. Matt and Dan were extremely kind and aided him with both his school work and on the court. They poked and prodded here and there, but never overstepped their bounds and unlike Nicky, they respected his personal space. Allison Reynolds and her dirtbag boyfriend Seth Gordon were too involved in each other to pay Neil or anything else for that matter, much heed. Aaron seemed to go out of his way to avoid Neil and then there was Renee. There was something about her in particular that made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure what it was.

She was just too squeaky _clean._ She was one of those people that just seemed too likable to be trustworthy. To top that off she seemed religious, all culminating in Neil’s least favorite type of person, so he steered clear of her at all costs. The upperclassmen had also dubbed Andrew, Aaron, Nicky and Kevin as ‘The Monsters’ of the group. So it was especially disconcerting when Neil received an invitation from Nicky to join _The Monsters_ for a night of drinking and clubbing. 

“No thanks,” Neil replied. “You can relay to your boss that next time, if he wants me, he’ll have to come and ask me himself.”

He hadn’t expected his comment to deem results, but he found Andrew standing outside of his dorm room that night. He leaned against the wall with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his expression completely neutral, which meant he was sober again. Thank god. Neil wasn’t fond of what became of Andrew when he was riding one of his highs. 

Neil wasted no time as he stepped out in front of Andrew. “To what do I owe this honor?” 

“A little birdie whispered in my ear something about extending my decencies in person.”

“I’m surprised you indulged it.”

“Are you that eager to see me?” 

“I’m eager to understand,” Neil retorted. “What do you want from me?”

“A reason,” Andrew said. “For your presence here.”

“Why?”

“I’ll be the one asking the questions.”

Neil mulled this over in his head. He could still feel something rippling beneath his skin, heated and frenzied. Andrew was never going to make this easy for him, and for some reason, he wasn’t buying into a single one of his lies. Maybe if he was honest. Just this once. Just for a moment. Just to _see_.

“I’m only here to play.”

Andrew’s eyes were alight with intrigue. “That’s not what you told Kevin.”

“It’s none of your business what I tell Kevin.”

“You see, Kevin is my business.”

“How so?”

“You keep forgetting what I tell you,” Andrew snapped. “I ask the questions.”

“I won’t answer anything else unless you make it fair and square.”

There was a pause. Long and hard. For a second, Neil thought Andrew would actually turn on his heels and leave, but then he shrugged and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Come with out with us tonight.”

“I have to study.”

“You’ll survive. Isn’t that what you’re best at?”

That was ominous. Did Andrew really know more than he was letting on?

Neil grit his teeth and his curiosity got the best of him. After all, he could never be too careful. 

“Fine.”

* * *

Neil woke up feeling like he’d been hit over the head with an anvil, his stomach throbbed painfully and his mouth tasted like trash. There was pain at the back of his throat whenever he tried to swallow. 

Where the fuck was he!?

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the light streaming in from the long windows to his right, and then he was up with a jolt, panic surging within his chest. He was in somebody’s bed, empty as it was, it looked like it was slept in by someone other than Neil. He could feel his heart pick up the pace, attempting freedom from his ribcage. The room in itself was barren except for a mirror, an old cupboard and a pile of discarded clothes in the corner. It smelled like stale beer and vomit. Neil felt his stomach protest but forced the nausea back down. On the bedside table was a glass full to the brim with water and a couple of pills. Neil didn’t touch them. He didn’t touch anything. 

He stared down at his body… He had his clothes on, at least. 

That was a relief. 

He closed his eyes and attempted to breathe. 

Last night was played back to him in blurry flashes like stop-motion picture. He recalled strobe lights, Nicky’s sticky lips, the alien weight of something powdery on his tongue. He recalled Andrew’s breath on his face and hands snaking around his waist and the bitter taste of neat vodka. 

His eyes flew open and his breathing was frantic again. 

What had—Had he…? Did Nicky—?

There was a door slam and the sound of someone shouting. Neil pulled his knees up to his chest a moment, before every awry instinct in his body ordered him to run.

He hadn’t even made it halfway out of the room before Andrew was standing in front of him. 

Andrew climbed onto the bed at the mere sight of Neil and growled loudly, “You better not have touched him.” Neil met Andrew’s fervent eyes and the need to bolt bled out of him, replaced with a certain plaid confusion. “Can I—“ Andrew’s voice broke. “Yes or no?” he asked. 

“Jesus Andrew, I didn’t do anything! I swear!” came a voice floating up from outside the room.

Neil nodded quietly, and Andrew grabbed Neil’s face in both hands, bringing it close to his as he began to inspect him, eyes scanning for something—anything. It was only after he’d verified that Neil was untouched that he looked at Neil like he’d never seen him before.

“Know that I made him regret forcing his dirty tongue down your throat last night.” Andrew said. 

“I want him to stay away from me,” Neil snapped. “I didn’t ask to be fucking drugged.” 

“He will pay.” Andrew promised, but then his expression changed again.

It was only when Neil caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror from behind Andrew that he realized his contacts were missing. The eyes Andrew was staring into now were his own naked blue. The panic returned and amped up times a hundred. 

“Fuck,” Neil swore, beneath his breath. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Andrew muttered. “You recited your entire sob story to me last night.”

“I… What?”

 _“The point was not to die, since death came anyway, but to survive, which would be a miracle.”_ Andrew was responding in poetry again, but Neil felt his stomach bottom out from underneath him.

“Very convincing,” Andrew then stated. “Unlike the lie you’ve made of yourself.”

"Please don't tell anyone."

* * *

The burning end of Andrew’s cigarette was a tiny beacon of light against the dark night air. His legs dangled dangerously from the rooftop and his hair was falling all over his face, veiling his right eye. 

Neil sat down wordlessly next to him and Andrew offered him a cigarette. Neil took it and allowed its bittersweet smell to wash over him. He kept his eyes open though, and focused on Andrew, or he would start picturing his mother’s funeral on a burning beach again. 

“Thank you,” Neil then said. 

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“It doesn’t matter why you did it.”

He could see past the campus lights from up here, the mountain lines in the distance ensconced by trees and the cars dotting the highway like little gems. Neil’s skin itched with that familiar feral need he couldn’t quite place. This was all temporary. So why was it that every time he was around Andrew things felt so finite? What was this intensity he gave off? This poem disguised as boy?

“Why Exy?” Andrew asked, tearing the silence apart.

“Why poetry?” Neil replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you under the misconception that this is a two way street?”

“An answer for an answer. Does that not sound fair?” Neil remarked.

Andrew said nothing for a moment as he pressed the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply. Neil watched his chest rise and then fall slowly as he let the smoke out, his Adam’s Apple bob as Andrew then spoke, voice just loud enough to be discernible. 

“Heights and poems,” he began. “are the only things that make me feel.”

“You stole my line,” Neil said. “That’s exactly how I feel about Exy.”

“I see.”

“Do you write your own?”

“Roses are red, violets are blue. Fuck off I won’t tell you.” Andrew said.

“Cop out.” Neil murmured, in disapproval. “You know, I would have thought Exy means something to 

you too, with the way that you play.”

“And how do I play, exactly?”

**“Like you don’t want to lose.”**

Andrew went back to saying nothing, but Neil offered him a sideways glance. Andrew’s eyelashes were now catching the light from the lamps adorning the pathway beneath them. That feeling swimming within Neil was now something he could feel spreading up from underneath his navel. It was warm and felt safe, which Neil thought ironic considering safety wasn’t a luxury he’d ever been able to afford.

“Nicky said you weren’t the college type.”

“I made Aaron a promise.” 

For the first time, Neil thought he understood. Aaron was a med student and seemed pretty eager about his major. He wasn’t sure exactly what had gone down in between the twins, but he wouldn’t push it, not just yet anyway. The realization came like a sudden blow to the back of the head. Neil almost couldn’t believe it. Here he was, openly pursuing knowledge about somebody else’s life. Why was he so interested in Andrew? Why did it matter what he did and why he did it? 

“And Kevin?”

“Kevin, too.”

“Is that why he’s your business?”

At this, Andrew ashed out his cigarette and turned to look at Neil. “I can make you one too.”

“Huh?"

“A promise.” He stated. “Give your back to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want to play Exy. You can keep playing it for as long as you want if you promise to stay.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Kevin is fixated on you. He needs you on the court. Give your back to me and it’s a win-win for the both of you.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Maybe it’s because I don’t like to lose.”

Neil felt a rush like a dozen roses unfurl within him. He didn’t understand. He understood too much. Andrew was looking at him all too softly, his chest was aching with a deeply embedded longing, the sort he’d kept stored away for so long that it had only pickled and flourished in flavor. Here, he’d found a suggestion of something more than the dull percussion of a life he’d been living up until now, in a man who was opening up the possibly of an entire world for him.  

What could he offer in return?

No… No. He couldn’t do this.

“If my father finds me, he’ll kill me,” Neil reasoned. “He won’t hesitate to kill you too.”

“Until lions have their own historians, the story of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.”

“Where do you pick these up?”

“In hell,” Andrew replied, almost maliciously. “Will you join me?”

Neil looked up at the star-lorn sky. He could feel the rain on the wind, there were clouds sweeping in from the north and the stars would be swallowed soon. Maybe he’d begun thinking in metaphors now thanks to Andrew, but he felt it an omen. Neil turned to Andrew again and his skin began to react as if tripped by some kind of a magnet. “Yes,” Neil said, and then he brought his face as close to Andrew’s as he dared, and desire sang in him, the sort he hadn’t ever known before. Neil hadn’t known it was even possible to feel this alive off a court. His heart pounded as Andrew seemed to realize what Neil was hoping for. Andrew stared into his face but didn’t lean in or pull himself away. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“This is not happening right now.”

“Why not?”

“I asked for your back, not your stupid mouth.”

“I’ll give you both.”

“I will not indulge your nervous whims.”

“It’s not,” Neil said. “Show me what poetry does to you.”

Neil heard Andrew’s breath hitch at the words and then he closed the distance in between them, pressing his lips to Neil’s like snuffing out a candle. Andrew’s lips were the warmest sensation Neil had ever felt and he kissed harder than everything he’d ever known. Was this poetry—the intimacy of shared touch? Then maybe they were both poets. 

Neil felt himself sinking into Andrew’s kiss as his tongue chased the thrill of Andrew’s bottom lip. He didn’t touch him because he’d noticed Andrew didn’t quite seem to like being touched, but he buried his hands in Andrew’s jumper instead. Andrew ripped his mouth away in between breaths and let out a hoarse, “Ask me to stop.” 

“Do you want to?”

“No. Ask me.”

“Then don’t stop.”

Andrew cursed quietly beneath his breath and then they were kissing again. Neil wanted Andrew’s lips to stay on his forever as Andrew took Neil’s free hand and brought it up into his hair. Neil took it as permission and strengthened his grip in Andrew’s curls. There was a sharp wind, but Neil barely felt it against the steadying warmth of Andrew. When they pulled away again, Andrew’s face was still expressionless, but there was something prominently _awake_ behind his eyes.

“Tell me a poem,” Neil said, against Andrew’s jaw.

“Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”

“That one sounds familiar,” Neil pointed out. “What’s it from?”

“The Iliad,” Andrew said, sounding almost upset with himself. 

“Appropriate.” Neil replied, before crushing their lips together once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is kinda shitty and rushed and blergh but like  
> i was so tempted to write it bc like  
> andrew. as. a. poetry. major.
> 
> yes/??
> 
> here's the unsaid part of andrew's gr8 ass poem:  
> roses are red, violets are blue, fuck off i won't tell you, but that doesn't mean i wouldn't blow you  
> in all seriousness listen,,, listEN, he would be a very good poet??  
> or i can like see him being into poetry because it keeps his mind occupied and helps him "feel" n like he already talks in poetry like "sunrise, abram, death" c'mon only poets talk like that

**Author's Note:**

> please leave me a comment if you'd like to see more & thanks for reading :).


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